Denied
Page 72
Our wet lips slip across each other with ease, our tongues battle furiously but gently, and my palms encase his neck, my body pushing into his. I could kiss him for ever like this. The cold has been chased away by the heat of our mingling bodies, leaving no room for discomfort, just acres of space for serenity.
I have that serenity, and I know Miller does, too.
‘You taste even better in the rain,’ he says between our hectic tongues, not prepared to stop. ‘Jesus, f**king divine.’
‘Hmmm.’ I could never find any words to describe how he’s making me feel right now. There are none. So I show him by hardening my kiss and squeezing him tighter.
‘Savoured,’ he mumbles weakly. I hum again as he slows our kiss until our tongues are barely moving. ‘It turns out that I can worship you in Hyde Park.’ He pecks my lips and pushes my wet hair from my face.
‘Not to your full ability.’ I keep myself coiled around his drenched body. I’m not ready to let go yet.
‘I concur.’ He turns and starts an unhurried stride out of the park as the rain continues to beat down. ‘So I need to get finished at the club and get you home so I can show you my full ability.’
I nod and bury my face in his neck, letting him carry me back to the car.
If there is perfect beyond Miller’s perfect world, then this is it.
I’m squelching in the leather seat of Miller’s Mercedes, sensing a growing concern from beside me at the soggy state of his fine car. The dual temperature control displays a medium sixteen degrees, the right number to keep Miller calm, but the wrong number given how damn cold I am. I’m dying to turn the dial up, but mindful that I’m pushing Miller’s boundaries already – what with wet suits, picnics in Hyde Park, and unexpected shopping exhibitions. Turning that dial might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I shiver and sink further into my seat, catching Miller out of the corner of my eye sweeping his waves off his forehead.
Tracy Chapman coos about fast cars, which makes me smile as Miller is driving incredibly slowly. The air of calm and the serenity floating around our wet bodies is tangible. No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. Today has been better than I could ever have imagined, hiccups earlier in the day aside. Miller has worked through some tough issues, and not only has it filled me with the most incredible amount of pride, but it’s also enriched the feelings I have for him. And most satisfying of all, I know that Miller has stepped outside his perfect box and liked where he’s found himself. The fact that I am now freezing in my seat and dare not touch the temperature control of his swanky car is irrelevant.
‘Are you chilly?’ Miller’s concerned tone doesn’t grab my attention, but his question does. He’s surely not going to give me heat as well as a picnic, almost casual clothes, and a kiss in the rain?
‘I’m fine,’ I lie, forcing myself to stop shaking.
‘Olivia, you are far from fine.’ He reaches forward and rotates each dial in turn, ensuring they match, taking the car’s temperature to a toasty twenty-five degrees.
My elation soars and I reach over to catch a feel of his lovely stubble, all coarse and scratchy, but familiar and soothing. ‘Thank you.’
He pushes his cheek into my touch, then takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers before placing our joined hands in his lap and holding them there, choosing to drive one-handed.
I never want this day to end.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Tony.’ Miller nods in greeting, directing me past his bar manager by my neck and not seeming to notice the worried look on his face. He looks really worried, and while Miller appears fine with ignoring it, I’m not.
‘Livy?’ Tony says it like a question, like he’s surprised to see me. He once said Miller was happy in his own precise little world. But I know better. Miller wasn’t happy. He may have pretended to be, but I know – because he told me so himself – that he had a lovely time today.
It’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what to think of this soaking wet, dishevelled man before him. I don’t speak, just giving a small smile of acknowledgment as we disappear from view.
‘He doesn’t like me,’ I muse quietly, almost reluctantly, wondering if my time will be wasted asking why that might be.
‘He worries too much.’ Miller’s reply is short, sharp and final as he guides me through the maze of corridors to his office. I know Tony is against us, just like everyone else, so I’m not sure why his disapproval bothers me more than the rest of the interferers. The looks? The words? And why isn’t Miller more upset about it, like he gets with the others?
Miller taps in the code for his office and pushes the door open, and I’m immediately faced with the extreme precision of his office. Everything is how it should be.
Except us.
I look down at my soaking state, then to Miller’s, thinking how wrecked we both look. Strangely, now that I’m surrounded by the familiarity and exactness of Miller’s world, I feel all uncomfortable and . . . wrong.
‘Olivia?’ I look across to Miller, who’s at his drinks cabinet pouring a Scotch while yanking at his tie.
‘Sorry, daydreaming.’ I shake myself out of my silly reverie and close the door behind me.
‘Go and sit.’ He indicates his office chair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No.’
‘Sit,’ he prompts again when I’m still standing by the door a few seconds later. ‘Go.’
I look down at my dress, then to Miller’s fancy office chair. It was a trial and a concern sitting in Miller’s car while all soggy, and now I’m faced with his lovely leather office chair. ‘But I’m all wet.’ I pull at the hem of my dress and release it, letting it slap against my thigh in demonstration. I’m not just wet; I’m dripping.
His glass pauses at his lips as his eyes skip over my body, absorbing the mess I’m in. Or maybe not. His eyes land on my chest and then flip to mine. They’ve gone all smoky. ‘I quite like you wet.’ His glass points at me, his fiery gaze slicing through my chilliness and igniting my dormant desire. My body lights up and my breathing stutters under the heat of cool blues.
He starts to slowly wander over to me, casually, calm, and with a million emotions sparkling in his eyes. Want, lust, desire, resolve, and a ton of others, but I don’t get the chance to continue my mental list because his free arm slides under my bottom and lifts me to his mouth. I smell and taste Scotch, reminding me of a drunken Miller, but it’s easily dismissed under the attention of his divine mouth. Our wet clothes stick together, and my fingers delve into the messy array of his hair. This kiss is slow, meticulous and soft. He moans his pleasure and nibbles gently on my bottom lip each time he pulls away before lazily pecking me softly and pushing his tongue back into my mouth.
‘I need destressing,’ he mumbles, making me laugh. He’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You.’ I pull back and take my time feeling his face – relishing in the harshness of his stubble. ‘You are funny, Miller.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes, you are.’
He cocks his head in thought as he carries me over to his desk in one arm. ‘I’ve never been called funny before.’ I’m placed in his leather seat and turned to face his pristine desk, finding a stupid sense of calm when I note everything is in its rightful place, namely the solitary item that always graces Miller’s desk – a phone. ‘You don’t have a computer?’ I ask.
I have that serenity, and I know Miller does, too.
‘You taste even better in the rain,’ he says between our hectic tongues, not prepared to stop. ‘Jesus, f**king divine.’
‘Hmmm.’ I could never find any words to describe how he’s making me feel right now. There are none. So I show him by hardening my kiss and squeezing him tighter.
‘Savoured,’ he mumbles weakly. I hum again as he slows our kiss until our tongues are barely moving. ‘It turns out that I can worship you in Hyde Park.’ He pecks my lips and pushes my wet hair from my face.
‘Not to your full ability.’ I keep myself coiled around his drenched body. I’m not ready to let go yet.
‘I concur.’ He turns and starts an unhurried stride out of the park as the rain continues to beat down. ‘So I need to get finished at the club and get you home so I can show you my full ability.’
I nod and bury my face in his neck, letting him carry me back to the car.
If there is perfect beyond Miller’s perfect world, then this is it.
I’m squelching in the leather seat of Miller’s Mercedes, sensing a growing concern from beside me at the soggy state of his fine car. The dual temperature control displays a medium sixteen degrees, the right number to keep Miller calm, but the wrong number given how damn cold I am. I’m dying to turn the dial up, but mindful that I’m pushing Miller’s boundaries already – what with wet suits, picnics in Hyde Park, and unexpected shopping exhibitions. Turning that dial might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I shiver and sink further into my seat, catching Miller out of the corner of my eye sweeping his waves off his forehead.
Tracy Chapman coos about fast cars, which makes me smile as Miller is driving incredibly slowly. The air of calm and the serenity floating around our wet bodies is tangible. No words are spoken and they don’t need to be. Today has been better than I could ever have imagined, hiccups earlier in the day aside. Miller has worked through some tough issues, and not only has it filled me with the most incredible amount of pride, but it’s also enriched the feelings I have for him. And most satisfying of all, I know that Miller has stepped outside his perfect box and liked where he’s found himself. The fact that I am now freezing in my seat and dare not touch the temperature control of his swanky car is irrelevant.
‘Are you chilly?’ Miller’s concerned tone doesn’t grab my attention, but his question does. He’s surely not going to give me heat as well as a picnic, almost casual clothes, and a kiss in the rain?
‘I’m fine,’ I lie, forcing myself to stop shaking.
‘Olivia, you are far from fine.’ He reaches forward and rotates each dial in turn, ensuring they match, taking the car’s temperature to a toasty twenty-five degrees.
My elation soars and I reach over to catch a feel of his lovely stubble, all coarse and scratchy, but familiar and soothing. ‘Thank you.’
He pushes his cheek into my touch, then takes my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers before placing our joined hands in his lap and holding them there, choosing to drive one-handed.
I never want this day to end.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Tony.’ Miller nods in greeting, directing me past his bar manager by my neck and not seeming to notice the worried look on his face. He looks really worried, and while Miller appears fine with ignoring it, I’m not.
‘Livy?’ Tony says it like a question, like he’s surprised to see me. He once said Miller was happy in his own precise little world. But I know better. Miller wasn’t happy. He may have pretended to be, but I know – because he told me so himself – that he had a lovely time today.
It’s clear that Tony doesn’t know what to think of this soaking wet, dishevelled man before him. I don’t speak, just giving a small smile of acknowledgment as we disappear from view.
‘He doesn’t like me,’ I muse quietly, almost reluctantly, wondering if my time will be wasted asking why that might be.
‘He worries too much.’ Miller’s reply is short, sharp and final as he guides me through the maze of corridors to his office. I know Tony is against us, just like everyone else, so I’m not sure why his disapproval bothers me more than the rest of the interferers. The looks? The words? And why isn’t Miller more upset about it, like he gets with the others?
Miller taps in the code for his office and pushes the door open, and I’m immediately faced with the extreme precision of his office. Everything is how it should be.
Except us.
I look down at my soaking state, then to Miller’s, thinking how wrecked we both look. Strangely, now that I’m surrounded by the familiarity and exactness of Miller’s world, I feel all uncomfortable and . . . wrong.
‘Olivia?’ I look across to Miller, who’s at his drinks cabinet pouring a Scotch while yanking at his tie.
‘Sorry, daydreaming.’ I shake myself out of my silly reverie and close the door behind me.
‘Go and sit.’ He indicates his office chair. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No.’
‘Sit,’ he prompts again when I’m still standing by the door a few seconds later. ‘Go.’
I look down at my dress, then to Miller’s fancy office chair. It was a trial and a concern sitting in Miller’s car while all soggy, and now I’m faced with his lovely leather office chair. ‘But I’m all wet.’ I pull at the hem of my dress and release it, letting it slap against my thigh in demonstration. I’m not just wet; I’m dripping.
His glass pauses at his lips as his eyes skip over my body, absorbing the mess I’m in. Or maybe not. His eyes land on my chest and then flip to mine. They’ve gone all smoky. ‘I quite like you wet.’ His glass points at me, his fiery gaze slicing through my chilliness and igniting my dormant desire. My body lights up and my breathing stutters under the heat of cool blues.
He starts to slowly wander over to me, casually, calm, and with a million emotions sparkling in his eyes. Want, lust, desire, resolve, and a ton of others, but I don’t get the chance to continue my mental list because his free arm slides under my bottom and lifts me to his mouth. I smell and taste Scotch, reminding me of a drunken Miller, but it’s easily dismissed under the attention of his divine mouth. Our wet clothes stick together, and my fingers delve into the messy array of his hair. This kiss is slow, meticulous and soft. He moans his pleasure and nibbles gently on my bottom lip each time he pulls away before lazily pecking me softly and pushing his tongue back into my mouth.
‘I need destressing,’ he mumbles, making me laugh. He’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You.’ I pull back and take my time feeling his face – relishing in the harshness of his stubble. ‘You are funny, Miller.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes, you are.’
He cocks his head in thought as he carries me over to his desk in one arm. ‘I’ve never been called funny before.’ I’m placed in his leather seat and turned to face his pristine desk, finding a stupid sense of calm when I note everything is in its rightful place, namely the solitary item that always graces Miller’s desk – a phone. ‘You don’t have a computer?’ I ask.
